Inevitability
by sydneysages
Summary: Fifteen years later, Claire and Myrnin are the town's two most eminent scientists. In fact, they're among the world's most influential scientists. So what happens when an outsider, Dr James Dashed, returns from fifty years outside of Morganville to assist on a project, on Amelie's command? /ClaireMyrnin, told primarily from the perspective of an outsider. In Progress.
1. Greetings

**A/N:** Hi all! So I was looking through my laptop and found the first 8,000 words of what was originally intended as a oneshot Clyrnin set in the future. I've decided to split it into 3 or 4 chapters - in total - so find the first chapter below. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Claire said, more than a touch of disbelief evident in her tone. "Some guy left Morganville thirty years ago to do _great things_ ," she continued, making air quote signs with her fingers, "and now you've requested that he return to Morganville?"

Amelie rolled her eyes as she set down her pen. "I believe that the information you have just summarised is basic and relatively obvious, Claire. You should not have needed to repeat my words, if you remain as bright as you were aged eighteen."

A scowl was Claire's only response to Amelie's comment. At thirty four, she wasn't as sharp as her eighteen year old self in some ways, but in others she was much more educated. Having recently reconsidered some of her young self's theories, she was almost ashamed.

"Not only is he slowly going to recall the truth about Morganville, but you want him to _work_ with us in order to bring some of his specialist knowledge to the table?" Claire remained as aghast at the information as she was the night before when Myrnin had told her of Amelie's plans. "So…you want to bring someone who doesn't remember vampires into a vampire's lair with traps and danger lying around every corner, and make him work with someone who is _the_ most difficult person in Morganville? Amelie, you've lost your mind."

"I did not realise you had made the leap from physics to neurology, Miss Danvers," was Amelie's response, her tone icy. "Though you have correctly understood my orders. Mon dieu, I had thought my best scientist had lost the ability to understand words when you requested this meeting. My orders were extremely clear."

Even though Claire knew that Amelie saying she was her best scientist was to butter her up, she couldn't stop her heart swelling a little. Whilst she had left town in the last decade and a half and had done some pretty incredible things, she always ended up returning to learn even more from the greatest scientist around. She was a little bitter that she could never be considered the best whilst Myrnin was in the world but she had gotten over that; it was the price to pay to learn everything.

"Not going to lie, I think it's one of your worst ideas," Claire commented. Something had clicked in her during her last trip away from Morganville—she spent three months in London last year, as her divorce paperwork was filed—and she no longer felt particularly scared of Amelie. It felt ridiculous to be petrified of someone who looked more than a decade younger than herself.

Fleetingly, an expression of shock crossed Amelie's face before she recomposed herself. "I do not particularly care whether you agree with this, Miss Danvers, it shall happen regardless."

Mentally, Claire corrected Amelie to saying _Ms_ Danvers, though she refrained from saying anything. There was something in the way Amelie was gripping the side of the desk which suggested that if she said anything else, she may very well lose her head. Years of close work with the Founder had brought a degree of openness to their relationship, but it was clear Amelie still felt herself superior—despite the fact that Claire knew as many ways to kill Amelie as Amelie knew ways to kill Claire. Possibly more, considering Claire had designed the ventilation system in Amelie's office to allow fresh air in during daylight hours.

"Does Myrnin know? As I don't want to be the one to tell him and it's probably a good idea if he knows _before_ this dude turns up that he has to act normal. It'll probably take him a day or two to process the fact that he can't just drop into conversation comments about your lives back in the day, or whenever kings started beheading their queens on your birthday."

Gracefully, Amelie rose from her seat and made her way towards the bookcase in the far corner of the room. "He is aware and he will be on his best behaviour—or he loses the laboratory he possesses." She picked up a book from the shelf and returned to her seat, sliding it across the desk's glass surface to Claire. "This is a book; you may consider reading it. It discusses Anne Boleyn, the queen—if she can even be called that—killed upon my birthday. It caused an argument between Myrnin and myself which lasted forty years. If you had bothered to pay attention in your classes, you would know this."

Somewhere in the back of Claire's mind, it clicked that Amelie was a Catholic and this Boleyn woman was a reformist; that was proof she _had_ listened in history class—she just hadn't enjoyed it enough to keep in her conscious mind. "Well, if Myrnin doesn't eat the new guy alive, I'll read it from cover to cover. Now, if that's everything, I need to get to the laboratory and finish an experiment before Myrnin takes all the credit."

Amelie didn't say a word so Claire rose and made her way to the door, regretting her six am gym visit as her back twinged with pain.

Just as Claire was about to close the door, Amelie spoke. "I did not say it before, but I will say it now, Claire: you made a good decision opening divorce proceedings against the boy. It's just a shame how it came about."

Claire didn't bother to respond as she half-slammed the door shut behind her.

* * *

"Would you mind turning the AC up a touch?" James Dashed, former Morganville resident and returning scientist, asked Eddie the taxi driver as they made their slow journey through the streets of Morganville. It was close and humid, far hotter than the weather in New York, and James was sweating more than he had in years. He'd forgotten about the heat—and the dust—in Morganville. Perhaps he had been able to cope in his youth, but now he was almost sixty, heat tolerance was _way_ in his past.

The taxi driver gave him a funny look and rolled his eyes as he said, "the cab doesn't have air conditioning; we don't waste money on stuff like that down here. If you really feel the need, open your window." His tone was sharp and sullen, and James regretted asking the question.

There was something about this town, something he'd forgotten, and it didn't bring him back good memories. Most of his youth here was a blur, memories lost to the throngs of time, but already some things were clearer than they were the night before. One night in Morganville's dusty (everything here was dusty) motel had reminded him that there was a luscious piece of grass in the centre of town which he had never properly visited, for some reason, and that some shops only opened at night.

The car stopped abruptly next to an alleyway and a fancy looking house which stirred something in the back of James's mind. He soon forgot about it when he discovered how much the taxi fare was.

" _Thirty_ dollars?" he repeated, aghast. "We drove for five minutes tops! Even in New York, they don't rob you as badly as that!"

The taxi driver pressed a button, causing the lock on James's door to click shut. "You're going nowhere till I get my money. Do we need to get the fangs involved?"

There was something strange about what the taxi driver said, and it took a few seconds to process that he said _fangs_. Why, James had no idea. "Why would you get fangs involved?"

He met the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror and saw a look of irritation flash across his face. "Never mind. You're a tourist, I suppose. I'll give you the fare for twenty if you get out of my cab and never come back."

Though he was puzzled as to why the fare suddenly dropped, James didn't question it. Instead, he handed over his twenty dollar bill, sighing in relief when the car door unlocked. He then stepped out as quickly as possible, small bag in hand, and didn't wave goodbye as the driver sped away before the rear passenger door had even fully closed. All James hoped was that the people he was going to be working with were friendlier than the taxi driver—and the motel worker. Nearly everyone he had come across in his hometown was sullen, and he didn't understand why.

Behind James was a large, white house with a front porch, identical to the photo attached to the instructions he had received through the post three weeks ago. Morganville's mayor had written to him requesting his return to Morganville to work on some world-leading technology—and it was clear he didn't have a choice in the matter. It was as if something in the paper compelled him to return to his hometown.

His intended location, however, did not look as though it housed world-renowned scientists, or even technology from beyond 2000. A small outhouse building lay at the end of an alley which had several fake spiders hanging from its walls; whether this was a joke on behalf of the scientist, Ms Danvers, James didn't know. He just hoped she was sane enough to work with. There was another man, apparently, someone called Myrnin, but the paperwork mentioned nought more than his name. What he would come across was a complete surprise.

James reached the end of the alleyway, reaching a remarkably solid looking door with a strong-looking lock upon it. Evidently, the scientists appreciated their security systems, which gave him more hope than he previously had. However, he was unsure what to do at this point: did he knock on the door, or did he simply walk in and allow his credentials to do the talking?

He was saved from having to make the decision by the door swinging inwards, a young woman suddenly appearing in the doorway. By his reckoning, she looked as though she was in her early thirties, with slight wrinkles just beginning to emerge by her eyes. As he appraised her, he could see her doing the same thing to him, her dark eyes flitting across his body, taking in his appearance and bag.

Before either of them could speak, another voice spoke, the words echoing from wherever the speaker was. "Is it another girl scout, Claire? You know how I feel about their cookies!"

The woman in the doorway rolled her eyes, and James presumed that this must indeed be the Claire Danvers the mayor had discussed. She looked pretty normal and non-eccentric to him, though maybe his eyes were failing him. He was getting on, after all.

"No, it's the scientist Amelie told you about," the woman shouted back, turning her upper half of her body away from James. She then turned back and spoke at a more normal volume, "hi there, I'm Claire Danvers. I presume you're James Dashed?"

James nodded in the affirmative and put his hand out, a move Claire reciprocated. "Indeed I am. Is the other scientist inside?"

"I'd rather have cookies than that man," the voice shouted, causing Claire to wince.

"Sorry about that," she said, taking a step away from the door. "He's a little annoyed that Amelie wanted you to come back; he feels as though she's underestimating his brilliance. Do come in, though. We work downstairs, to prevent any disturbances from the humans around us."

As he entered the outhouse—which was kitted out with remarkably sophisticated security software inside—James was struck once again by an odd choice of words. Ordinarily, one would say _people_ around us; yet the Claire girl said humans. Something was beginning to click that Morganville wasn't as normal as James remembered it—but thinking about that hurt his head. Science was simple; he'd rather stick to that.

Slowly, he descended the stairs after Claire, clinging onto the handrail as he did so. The stairs were rickety and wooden, and he had never been a fan of stairs. Yet the speed and deftness by which Claire descended the stairs was remarkable; evidently, she spent a lot of time here.

"Myrnin, this is James, James, this is Myrnin." Claire did the introductions between the two men, though it was a little difficult considering the other man was sitting under a table. All James could see was that Myrnin had a very strange sense of fashion.

"I'm trying to work out the exact chemical formula we need to multiply matter by one hundred and seven percent, Claire, please don't interrupt me." The voice emanating from the figure under the table was the same as the one which had shouted about cookies merely a minute earlier, yet it seemed colder, as though he didn't want James there.

"I'm sorry," Claire apologised once again, gesturing to an empty lab stool by a different work bench for James to sit on. "He doesn't get on with other people very well." She half-laughed, as though remembering something funny. "I went away to Berg for six weeks about five years ago, and Amelie and I decided that he needed an assistant to help clear up the place whilst I was gone—seriously, some of the things he tries to grow are scary. But before I was even out of town, I got a call from him telling me that he was quitting because Myrnin tried to use him as a test subject for scientific shrinking."

James blanched as Myrnin spoke, the man's voice much warmer than it had been previously. "Claire, my dear, we do not need to scare off the man before he has even had a chance to set his bag upon the table. You must accept that it is no longer just the two of us working together—two has become three, although it is most unexpected."

Although he didn't know anything about the man, James had approximated Myrnin to be a British man in his late sixties—just a bit older than himself. And whilst his image of a tweed suit had been destroyed by the wacky clothing the man under the table was wearing, he felt that there _had_ to be a greying moustache.

He was wrong on almost every account.

The only thing he got right was that the man in charge of this laboratory was British. To James's inexpert ear, he sounded Welsh, but that wasn't really important. More shocking was his appearance: he was _young_. Myrnin looked as though he was in his twenties, and dressed as eccentrically as though he was a toddler, with bright pink jeans and a floral shirt adorning his body, bunny slippers on his feet and an Edwardian-esque hat upon his head.

It didn't compute to James how someone so young could be so important. When _he_ was young, he was clever—of course he was—but he knew nothing in comparison to what he knew now. That this fellow was younger than even the girl who had met James—and she was young in comparison to himself—was shocking. It just didn't make sense that Myrnin could know more than himself and Claire…unless…

The question slipped out of James's lips before he could stop himself, and he decided to blame his long journey on loosening his tongue and causing his impropriety.

"Where do you get your botox done, and how frequently?"

There was a period of awkward silence lasting approximately ten seconds, during which time both Claire _and_ Myrnin stared at James in horror. This was broken when Claire had fully processed James's words and burst into a peal of laughter, cackling extremely loudly. Despite putting her hand over her mouth, the noise reverberated around the laboratory; evidently, she had found James's question extremely amusing.

James blushed as the laughter continued. He quickly surveyed Myrnin's face and realised that the man was extremely offended by his words; he looked as though he was made of stone, and his hands were balled up. However, there was at least some puzzlement in his expression. Every few seconds, he turned his attention to Claire, as though he didn't understand why she was laughing—he just knew enough to be sure he should be offended.

"I haven't the faintest idea—" Myrnin began, his tone offended. However, before he could continue, Claire intervened, her manic laughter suddenly abating as she rushed in to answer.

"He has biweekly appointments with a doctor downtown who does it on the down low—he doesn't want to expand his cliental beyond the limited few he already has," she said. "You wouldn't think he was in his late forties, would you? She laughed again, but it sounded forced.

It had to be his imagination, but James was convinced that Claire had rushed in to answer the question to prevent Myrnin revealing something—but what? That he really _was_ in his twenties? Or…could he have developed some sort of elixir to keep himself young?

James shook his head; the idea of an elixir was a fantasy, something Hollywood used far too frequently nowadays to ever be believable. Realistically, the explanation had to be very plausible: Myrnin used botox more than he wanted to admit. More than that, James was convinced his eyes were slowly going—it was to be expected, what with his age—and the light in the laboratory wasn't the greatest; it was very likely that he would think Myrnin was older when they were in proper light above ground.

"I apologise if I caused any offence, may we never speak of it again," James said, breaking the silence which had been steadily growing since Claire explained away Myrnin's appearance. "Now, we have wasted enough time. I'm very intrigued to know of the secret work the two of you are doing—your mayor didn't really inform me of what my role would be."

There was a look exchanged between the two scientists James would be working with that made him think that maybe it wasn't their idea to have him join the team. Neither of them seemed particularly enthralled to discuss their secret work, and a period of awkward silence (once again) ensued before Claire opened her mouth.

"A little bit of context is needed first," she said, and James was immediately suspicious. When something needed explaining, it generally meant that it could be construed in a negative way. "You may not remember it, but we have a lot of…accidents here in Morganville. Drivers going the wrong way, kids wandering around abandoned buildings...it means that we need a lot of blood, to make sure that they live."

There was a snort from Myrnin at this point, but as Claire ignored it, James decided to do the same.

"That's why we've been working on ways to multiply one drop of blood into a litre, and to be able to clone the cloned blood—without it losing any of its nutrients. The challenge has been keeping the exact same molecular structure _and_ the quality of the blood as we increase the quantity."

There was a more obvious solution to James, one he quickly voiced. "But what's the point? Scientists have tried for decades to clone blood, and whilst it's possible on a small scale, it just isn't worth it on a mass scale. Why don't you just promote donating blood? It would certainly save time."

Myrnin took a step forwards; the movement was sharp and sudden, and caused James' attention to shift from Claire to him. The other man looked angry, as though James' suggestion wasn't a good one—which it was. Why bother to waste millions of dollars and thousands of hours of time doing something which the human body does for free?

"Do you really think that we are idiotic enough to waste time doing something regular people do if donations could fulfil the requirements?" Myrnin snapped. "I do not know what it is like in New York, but we have a limited number of people here, and their donations only just cover what we use. _Do_ use your brain, Mr Dashed, or I'm afraid that this partnership will have to end, regardless of what Amelie says."

Affronted, James felt his cheeks flushing: a sign that he was both embarrassed and extremely angry. "I understand that the pair of you do not want another person coming in at this stage of your research, and that you feel I am here to steal your glory, yet this is not the case—and I would appreciate it if you treated me with the respect I am giving you. Without meaning to boast, I am a very well decorated researcher, and I have expertise neither of you will have, meaning I can bring something more to the research."

James set his briefcase down on the floor, the thud breaking his rather long spiel into two halves. "You did not ask for me and I did not ask to be here; I was requested, and despite saying no, I was not given the opportunity to resist. Yet I am willing to immerse myself in this task and help the pair of you reach your conclusion that bit faster than you otherwise would. Will you allow me to complete this task _without_ biting my head off every five seconds?"

He wasn't entirely sure, but James was convinced he heard Myrnin say, "I haven't bitten your head off yet, it's too big for that," though he wasn't going to broach the subject. Whilst he was a great scientist apparently, to James Myrnin seemed eccentric and almost as though he strived to appear more insane than he actually was. Though anger had been directed towards him, James had noticed the man's gaze was clear and steady when he looked at his associate—clearer than it was when he knew she was watching him.

However, that wasn't James's business in which to meddle. Perhaps if he knew either of the scientists well he would feel it appropriate to quibble if they were in a secret relationship, but he didn't. He already had the feeling that neither of them wanted his assistance, so perhaps it was wise to not antagonise them further.

Silence ensued for a further minute or so before Claire broke it, her tone seeming friendlier than it had been prior to his outburst. "Well, James, it only seems fair to get you clued in on where we're up to in our research—we can't expect you to make a break through without it, after all! If you're up for it, we can do that now, or we can give you a day or two to readjust to life in Morganville first? I guess there must be a few people you want to catch up with?"

James shrugged, the movement heavy with tension. "Not really. It's strange; I don't remember much of my life before I went off to college. Sure, there are flashes of memories of my parents and my sister, but…I don't really remember anyone's name. It's…fuzzy."

Once again, Claire and Myrnin exchanged a glance which James found difficult to read. It was going to be difficult working with the two of them, he recognised that straight away; he himself had had a partner, once, with whom he shared the same level of understanding. It was more difficult than he had imagined, being the odd one out. However, the fact that they _were_ glancing between one another worried him; how could his fuzzy memory be of concern to the pair of them? They were far too young to have been around when he was, back in the day. Surely they hadn't managed to track down his old school friends—if he had any of them—to have a reunion?

"Evidently, then, you are a loner and have no friends—we may as well begin work now, so that you can return to your office and boring research in Ottawa," Myrnin commented, placing a pair of half-lens spectacles upon the brow of his nose.

" _Myrnin_!" Claire commented, aghast. She turned to look at James, and it was obvious that she was extremely embarrassed for what her colleague—for it was clear that they were on an equal footing, even if the man would not admit it openly—had said to him. "I'm so sorry, James, he doesn't get out much, and only has one friend. He tends to project himself onto other people; insulting them makes him feel better."

Whether or not Claire was joking by the end wasn't exactly clear to James; however, it did make him feel a little better regarding Myrnin's comment. He _had_ begun to think that the man was accepting his presence—perhaps not. Nonetheless, James was here to do a job; he was not here to make friends with the town's evidently slightly nonsensical scientist.

"It's fine. But if we could move onto the actual science of what you two have done so far, that'd be great. I've spent pretty much three hours in Morganville so far, and it'd be nice to get the chance to change and unpack." James felt he was brisker than he intended to be, once again noting an exchange of glances between Claire and Myrnin.

 _Do they do anything other than_ look _at one another_? James thought to himself, slightly irritated already. It was relatively obvious that they were not in a romantic relationship, yet were very close; it was also almost as obvious that both of them harboured feelings for the other, though he couldn't confirm that based solely on one meeting with the two of them. His lessons in behavioural psychology at college were still with him, and he was pretty sure that within a week he'd be able to read pretty much all of his fellow scientists' body language—something evidently neither of them could do. What remained to be seen was whether or not he could cope with said scientists' body language, if all it did was scream _I love you but I haven't told you_. He had had to deal with situations like this in Delaware and Nevada, back in the day, and had learnt from the experience of accidentally revealing the three way love-cheats within his staff. This time, he would learn the facts before revealing his knowledge of mutual adoration—if he could cope with viewing their shared body language for that long.

Claire cleared her throat and dashed off in the opposite direction of the door, leaving James with Myrnin. Whilst the young-looking man had actually risen off the floor, he hadn't made any motions to shake James's hand, and he didn't attempt to offer pleasantries to fill the silence left by Claire's departure. Unperturbed, James merely sat down on the bench Claire had gestured to before, putting on his own spectacles, and removing a pen and notepad from his bag.

Opening the notebook, he wrote the date and location at the top of the page, and waited for Claire's return to learn the official title of their research.

Secretly, James was excited. He had been imagining just what it was that this research was going to be—and it didn't disappoint. Whilst a part of him felt it was worthless—the world was never going to run out of blood, after all—he recognised the brilliance behind it; no longer would people die in hospitals because there wasn't enough of a blood type to go around. No longer would there be battles between hospital wards as to who supplied the blood for the patient; there wouldn't be any shortages. No longer would major accidents have the same drain on hospital resources—no longer would people die before they reached the hospital due to bleeds.

No longer would the human race suffer—as much, anyway.

* * *

Please leave any comments! Hopefully shouldn't be too long for the next update.


	2. Development

Sorry for the delay in updating!

* * *

"My, I hadn't realised the time!" James exclaimed, a little shocked to look at his watch to discover it was almost midnight. He had arrived at the laboratory a little after one, and after the (awkward) pleasantries, they had cracked on with business pretty much straight away.

They had been working for almost ten hours with only one short break for a quick snack—but it certainly didn't feel as though it had been that long. As much as he missed his establishment back in New York, it was…refreshing to work with new people, who offered insights into things he had never previously considered. The way the two scientists bounced ideas off each other—it was invigorating to watch, and even more interesting to be a part of.

At his words, both Claire and Myrnin looked up from the diagram of the molecular structure of a blood cell. Neither of them looked particularly tired, and James could tell it was with great displeasure Myrnin said, "let's continue this work in the morning then, shall we?"

Nodding, James began to gather up the items he had removed from his work bag, and placed them in a neat pile in front of his seat. "You don't mind if I leave these here, do you? It's quite a trek across town, and it'll be easier to leave it here than potentially forget the bag in the morning."

As he turned back around to face his fellow scientists, James became slightly confused as to why a look of such blatant alarm had passed across Claire's face.

"You're…walking home?" She confirmed, her tone betraying a note of anxiety even though James was convinced she was trying to act calm.

"The taxi driver tried to charge me thirty dollars for a five minute cab ride; if I'm staying in Morganville for an extended period of time, I can't really afford it."

"But…but it's not safe!" Claire continued. "There are gangs and…and yobs…it's really not a good idea for you to walk, James, I must insist that you do not."

A snort came from the man who had, until this point, remained remarkably quiet. Despite only having known him for a few hours, James could tell that Myrnin was one of the most egotistical men he had ever met, someone who was convinced that he alone was right on every occasion. "Claire, it is _quite_ clear that Mr Dashed does not want to listen to your advice. Please allow him to walk home; I am sure he would appreciate the chance to clear his head after a day of such intense theoretical discussion."

To this, Claire turned around so that she was no longer facing James; instead, her attention was fully focused on her companion. As she turned, James caught a glimpse of the expression on her face—and if anything was the greatest source of confusion for him that day, her expression at that moment was. Never in all his days (that he could remember, at least) had anyone gotten so angry at another for suggesting that a learned man should go and walk home by himself. It was as if there was something… _dangerous_ about walking home—more than just the gangs and usual street crime that had littered New York—something that neither of them wanted to share, but only Claire wanted to protect him from.

" _No_ , Myrnin, that wouldn't be a good idea, would it?" Claire said quietly—so quietly that James was sure he wasn't supposed to hear. "Do you want Amelie to hear about what you've been suggesting?"

James wasn't sure if it was just that his eyes were tired, or just that the lighting was so poor, but he was certain that a dangerous glint appeared in Myrnin's eyes. For just a second, it was as if he was tensing up to fight—to fight with the girl he had been so carefully caring for all day.

"Look," James said, his tone as sharp as it had been when he had called the pair of them out on their attitude towards him earlier that day. "I _really_ don't want to be the cause of some dispute between the pair of you. It's fine. I'm really not bothered about walking, because I don't think Morganville's gang culture is a patch on New York's. Thanks for your concern, Claire, but I just want to get to bed."

There was no response for a few seconds, but James could see that both Myrnin and Claire were locked into one another's gaze—and not in a nice way. They were staring each other down, neither of them wanting to give in first.

But then, finally, Myrnin capitulated; without saying a word to James, he turned on his heel and walked off to the other side of the laboratory.

Breathing heavily, Claire turned around to face James, a steely expression on her face. "No offence, James, but just because you live in New York it doesn't mean you know how to deal with gangs. You're old, an easy target to them. So what I'm going to do is I'm going to drive you back to the motel, and in the morning, I'm going to pick you up and bring you back here. We'll stop for breakfast on the way. Does that sound reasonable?"

Whilst James wasn't going to turn down a free ride home, it was perfectly obvious that there was something dangerous about Morganville, something he couldn't quite remember.

But he was going to find out.

* * *

"The Founder says you can go through now."

Amelie's new assistant was as polite as the old one—Bizzie?—had been, but Claire could almost sense the pity in her eyes.

 _Everyone_ seemed to pity her nowadays, as though being a scientist conducting cutting-edge research (even research which wasn't strictly within her remit) wasn't enough for her. No, because she wasn't married any longer, and because she didn't have any kids, it was as if all people could feel for her was sympathy—and that wasn't something she wanted. Claire was quite well aware that she was successful and she was happy, and really, that was all she wanted in life. People who viewed life as being futile without romance—they were the pitiable ones.

And it wasn't like she was completely cutting herself off from the world. She had been on a few dates since the breakup of her marriage, each of them…interesting, to say the least. More than that, she had ample romantic feelings within her; they were just feelings upon which she was never going to have the opportunity to act.

Slowly, Claire walked towards Amelie's office door and, much like her on her last visit here, regretted her decision to hit the gym before heading in. Running had become her new hobby of sorts, something she had picked up in London, though in Morganville it was safer to run inside than out. But whilst it was enjoyable to run, the hours after the run weren't exactly enjoyable. Still, at least keeping relatively fit would mean she would be able to run for her life, should her teenage danger magnet self reactivate.

"You wanted to see me," Claire stated as she sat down in front of Amelie's desk, squinting as she tried to assess what was different about the room. "And you've bought another desk. What was wrong with the glass?" The new—or, rather, old—desk looked as if it dated from Amelie's birth year, a simple yet elegant dark mahogany wood which had cracked with age.

Amelie almost looked impressed at Claire's deduction. "It took Oliver three hours to notice the difference."

Claire cracked a smile. "Looks like I'm sharper than a five hundred year old vampire. I don't know if there are words to describe how happy that makes me."

The expression on Amelie's face faded into neutrality as she picked up a piece of paper from her desk. "I asked you here to make an enquiry regarding the progress being made in your latest…experiment."

Just about managing to stop herself rolling her eyes, Claire fidgeted in her chair. Of course, Amelie wouldn't be happy with a phone call to learn how much progress they had made; she had to waste all of their time by summoning her down to the office.

"Well," Claire began hesitantly, "we've definitely made progress. Before Doctor Dashed arrived, we didn't have a clue about one of the molecules—neither of us are biologists, after all. But we're not quite there yet."

Amelie arched a brow, her facial expression indicating to Claire that she didn't view her response as satisfactory.

"This report is one written by James Dashed himself, in response to my request for an update on the research you are conducting," Amelie said, her tone cool. "Mr Dashed seems to feel as though your progress would be much greater if Myrnin stopped being a nuisance and interfering with his suggestions—and if _you_ gave him less opportunity to be, as Mr Dashed phrased it, a _smart ass_. Whilst I disagree with the language our esteemed colleague has used, I can see that there is validity within his argument."

Unable to stop herself, Claire scowled; she knew it was something a teenager would do, but sometimes being around Amelie made her feel like a child. "If you knew about our progress, Amelie, why did you waste my time in asking me to come down here?"

Something flashed in Amelie's eyes, something cold and dangerous, something that Claire had been convinced time had weakened—but perhaps it hadn't. Perhaps Amelie had just become better at hiding it.

"If you do not keep Myrnin in better check, Miss Danvers, I will be forced to remove him from this research. You _must_ succeed in your endeavours—else a great deal of money, time and resources will have been wasted." There was something in Amelie's tone that stopped Claire protesting why it was _her_ job to control Myrnin; it wasn't worth arguing about. "Now, before you leave, tell me how much Mr Dashed recalls about his time in Morganville…before."

"So far, not much," Claire admitted, exhaling loudly. "It's been difficult, I'm not going to lie, making sure that we don't accidentally reveal something about vampires. James keeps wanting to know exactly _why_ we don't have enough blood—he wants to speak to the schools and the establishments around here, try and promote blood donation a bit more. But he doesn't remember what Morganville is.

"He's starting to get headaches more frequently, though. I'm sure…Shane said something about getting a lot of headaches before he remembered what Morganville was, back in the day. And James commented on Founder's Square last week." Claire frowned, but before she could continue, Amelie caught on her last comment.

"What do you mean, he made a comment on my square?"

A half-smile came to Claire's lips at this point. Founder's Square's main feature was a statue of a fat, rather ugly, old man, the 'fake' Founder. After all, it wouldn't do to have Amelie in statue form. Not only would it raise historical questions, but God help any person who sculpted Amelie to be anything less than the cold, brutal, yet civilised woman she was.

"He just said it was strange that it's so green, considering the dust around the majority of the rest of Morganville," Claire responded. "I made something up about the Founder stipulating in their will that the grass there always had to be green—I think he believed me."

Slowly, Amelie nodded, her eyes focused on the far corner of the room. "Mr Dashed's history in Morganville was not…particularly pleasant, if I recall correctly," Amelie stated. Claire was aware Amelie remembered everything that had happened in Morganville; ' _if I recall correctly'_ was merely an unnecessary statement, one so rare for Amelie to use. "As he does begin to recall the true nature of this town, it would be wise if you assisted him in a kind manner—highlight some of the more…humanitarian aspects, with the less pleasant features left until a later date."

Unable to help herself, Claire snorted. "Basically, you want us to tell him, ' _James, it's all cool! They're hipster vampires—they won't hurt you_ ,' because you're scared that he'll take everything badly and run out?"

Amelie turned her gaze on Claire, her expression cold, but Claire held her own, staring back into Amelie's eyes. She had had enough practice of this over the years; she was no longer intimidated.

Finally, surprisingly, it was Amelie who broke away. "Discuss the matter with him as you please, Miss Danvers. Though if you suggest to him that I am a… _hippie_ , there are no words to explain the retribution you will face. Am I understood?"

"Crystal clear. Now, I'm going to go and pick James up to make sure that he isn't eaten by one of our resident anti-government residents—unless you've managed to get them in check, of course, in which case I'm certain he'll want to walk," Claire stated, placing both hands on the arms of her chair to lift herself up. Man, she definitely regretted the workout—tomorrow would have to be a rest day. "And unless there is a catastrophe on the scale of the FBI finding out about the situation in town, could you maybe hold off on calling me down here? It's hard enough to mind Myrnin with James around without me having to be down here."

Amelie's eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, as though she did not appreciate Claire giving her orders. It was only natural, after all: she had spent hundreds of years (the thought alone made Claire shudder) with her word being the literal law, and here Claire was, no longer bowing to the Founder's pressure…on this issue, at least.

Finally, she nodded. "Very well, unless the issue is a matter of…security, I will refrain from calling you to the office. As a…compromise," Amelie started, her face contorting in an amusing manner as she used what Claire thought would be on Amelie's 'no-go' list of words, "you will meet with Oliver at Common Grounds. That will not raise our guest's suspicions; I am sure even New Yorkers consume coffee on their breaks."

"Gotcha, Amelie, see you around," was Claire's response, causing her to internally cringe. That was something she would have gotten a kick out of saying to Amelie when she was sixteen, not at her age. But there was no going back on it, and so she beat a hasty retreat out of the building and back to her car.

* * *

In the ten days since James had arrived in Morganville, Claire had driven him to and from the laboratory nine times. She would wait outside for him at any time between half past seven and eight o'clock in the morning, beeping the horn three times to signal it was her.

Now, on the eleventh day, it was after nine and she was yet to arrive.

He had considered calling her at eight, before deciding that it was probably just traffic. Instead, he had sat down with some toast and a cup of coffee—instant rubbish, nothing like the café around the corner from his New York lab—and had turned on the satellite television to catch up on what was happening outside this tiny bubble of a world in Texas.

He had considered calling her at eight thirty, but then he thought that she had maybe slept in, and he didn't want to wake her. They had been working till after two in the morning for the sixth day straight; maybe the lack of sleep was catching up to her. He'd give her another few minutes before ringing her.

Eight forty five rolled around, and James began to get more than a little twitchy. He distinctly remembered Claire stating that there were many road accidents in Morganville…what if something had happened? Or…he didn't know if he had dreamed this up, or if it had returned to the forefront of his memory from the very back, but he was _sure_ that there was some culture of violence around Morganville. More than just the groups of 'yobs' that Claire had alluded to, and that James wasn't even sure existed. There was a very real threat of bodily harm, and perhaps she had fallen afoul of that.

It was at this point that James tried Claire's mobile; it went straight to voicemail, Claire's voice chirpier than it was at this time in the morning when she was there in person. So he tried it again and got the same result.

Panic was beginning to set in when he decided to try and reach Myrnin. Whilst the pair of them had gotten on marginally better than they had that first day, James still preferred to work with Claire, someone he felt was more…human. There was something about Myrnin that set his teeth on edge, a feeling which heightened whenever he was afflicted with a headache—something which was happening almost daily.

"Hello, is that Myrnin?" James said hesitantly, when the other phone picked up but didn't say a word.

"Who else would you be expecting, the Queen of Hearts?" Myrnin's voice came down the phone, sarcastic as ever in a way he only ever was with James. With Claire, he cared about every single word he said to her, no matter what they were discussing, no matter what his feelings on the matter were. "Why are you not at the laboratory working yet? Can you New Yorkers not handle hard work?"

The man's tone and his words rattled James, and it was through gritted teeth that he managed to respond. "Actually, I was ringing to inquire as to whether Claire had arrived yet with yourself. She hasn't been to the motel yet to pick me up, and she categorically told me that she would be coming for me."

"If she said she was coming for you, do you really think that she would not?" Myrnin's tone sounded almost incredulous. "Claire is not a liar, nor is she late for anything—you probably just got confused, I guess it comes with advanced age. I'll see you when you arrive." And with that, James's counterpart hung up.

It was with his words that James knew that he wasn't imagining what he saw between Claire and Myrnin. On occasion, he had seen relationships were there was none, but this was not one of those times. Myrnin would accept no fault in Claire—perhaps now it was time to see if Claire had the same view about Myrnin's perfection. If she ever turned up, anyway.


	3. Memories

Apologies for the lengthy time between updates, for the very small number of people whom I imagine are reading this!

* * *

"Oh, I'm sorry, do you have somewhere more important to be?" Oliver's tone was sarcastic as he raised his voice slightly to get Claire's attention.

She had surreptitiously – or, at least, what she thought was surreptitiously – checked her watch to see that the time was already after nine. For the duration of James's time in Morganville thus far, she had arrived at his motel no later than eight am, primarily to keep Myrnin happy. He had expressed doubts that the more mature scientist (though he hadn't worded it quite as politely) might struggle to focus in the evening, therefore wanted to get most of the breakthroughs achieved by lunch.

Personally, Claire thought it was just so that he could get James out of the laboratory faster so he could return to his real work, though she wouldn't express that opinion. It just wasn't worth the hassle.

"I'm supposed to have arrived at the motel about an hour ago," Claire explained, picking up her almost empty coffee cup to drain the dregs.

"And?" Oliver's tone was dismissive, a usual for when he talked to Claire. "You should have scheduled our meeting for an hour earlier then – I am not the good doctor's time keeper, after all."

It was all Claire could do to stop herself rolling her eyes; there was something about a one-on-one meeting with Oliver that reduced her to a teenager. He knew exactly which buttons to press.

"Perhaps if you had been slightly less stringent on following Amelie's questions to the letter – and needing to write down at least five pages of A4 for each answer – we'd have finished in the time that I allotted us," Claire retorted, noting the murderous expression which flitted across Oliver's face. Almost twenty years later, he still struggled to wrap his head around the notion that she could speak to him in a less than polite tone.

He shook his head, and his expression turned neutral once more. "Are you questioning my loyalty to our queen, Claire? As I'm not entirely sure on where the treason laws begin and end in Morganville at the moment…" His response was evidently intended to be a threat, though it didn't scare Claire: she had helped defeat Amelie's father; Oliver was nothing in comparison.

"Does it end before the consort, or after?" Claire responded, her tone faux-thoughtful. "Or do you not like being referred to as her consort? I can never remember what your preference is, Oliver."

His eyes narrowed, though thankfully Oliver didn't bother to retort. Evidently, he recognised that the faster that this meeting was over, the better.

"So are things going well with the experiment?" Oliver asked. "Before you make a comment, this is indeed the final question."

Claire nodded. "Yeah, things are progressing better. He's spotted a couple of chemical formulas that we can change to make things progress faster, and his background as a biologist is definitely helpful. Don't have a set end date for when we expect to have a product, though I'd like to hope that it's within the next couple of months. Hopefully before Christmas – it'd be nice if he could get out of Morganville in time to spend Christmas with his family."

Though he pursed his lips slightly, Oliver didn't rise to Claire's final comment, instead writing down everything that she said.

"In that case, feel free to leave – and make sure you drop the coffee cup off in the dishwasher on your way out. I don't run table service into my office, after all."

"See you in a few days," Claire responded cordially as she rose from her chair.

"I can hardly wait," came Oliver's childish retort just moments before she left the room.

After swiftly racking up her coffee cup and gathering two cups to go, Claire jumped into her car and began the short drive down to the motel. Whilst she knew that it was only a short drive – no drive within Morganville's boundaries took longer than twenty minutes – she couldn't help but panic. What if James had decided to just head to the laboratory himself, without her? What if he had walked? There was all kind of dangerous locations between the motel and the lab; it passed through the heart of what was Morganville's former industrial sector, with the abandoned buildings now the lair of some of the town's less friendly vampires. With just one wrong turning, James Dashed could be a very tasty breakfast.

Jumping more than a couple of red lights, Claire arrived at the motel in seven minutes, both coffees sloshing around in their cups as she pulled up. Without even turning the ignition off, she jumped out of her car directly in front of James's room and almost sprinted up to the door. When she reached it, she banged twice, hard, in the centre, so hard that she could feel the wood reverberate around her touch.

Though it had only been a few seconds since her first knock - realistically, not enough time for the aged scientist to have reached the door - Claire banged again, this time hitting the door three times. She regretted this slightly; two would have been more than enough, and the third hurt her hand, before the door opened.

She just about managed to disguise her sigh of relief that James hadn't attempted to walk to the laboratory as a yawn, which wasn't entirely unrealistic. Normally, she would have at least one day a week where she skipped both the gym and the early morning starts at work - that was _her_ day to do what she wanted (though normally a few too many reruns of One Tree Hill aired in her living room). However, with James being here, she knew she couldn't trust Myrnin to be with him alone. James seemed content to work till three every day rather than having a day off, though Claire generally returned to the lab after dropping him off in order to work on some of her other projects. Late nights and early mornings were taking their toll on her, though she wouldn't admit this to Myrnin: it would just add more fuel to his fire that, maybe, she'd be more effective as a vampire.

And, at least at the moment, that was _not_ something she wanted to happen.

"Claire." James's tone was frostier than Claire had grown accustomed to, at least towards her. "I thought something had happened - I tried to call."

"Uh, sorry," Claire replied, tapping her fingers on the frame of the door. "I had a meeting with the mayor about one of my other...projects. Are you ready to go?" She changed the subject suddenly, desperate to get on the road. Though she knew that it was her fault that they were late, she was _very_ aware that Myrnin wouldn't see it that way.

Though it was clear James was vexed at being rushed out so quickly, he complied with Claire's desire to get moving, and within a minute they were back in the car.

"So...the mayor is very interested in the science projects in town?" James asked, his voice thoughtful.

Claire hesitated before replying; thankfully, they were approaching the one bust intersection in Morganville, so could blame her distraction on making sure she didn't kill either of them.

"Yeah, she's really good about the science budget," Claire replied, carefully not looking in James's direction. "Though she's been friends with Myrnin for _ages_ , I generally tend to do project updates and funding requests with her because, well, you've met Myrnin. If he perceives things as not going his way, he'll become the most annoying person imaginable?"

"Become?" James muttered, and Claire had to laugh. It was one of the very rare times that he had let his professionalism slip, showing his more accurate, personal views of their co-worker.

"True," Claire conceded, turning to look at James. "He's one of the most trying people I've ever met, and yet one of the greatest."

The next question, Claire never, _ever_ expected to receive, particularly from James Dashed.

"Have you always been together as you've worked together, or is science how you met?"

For a good minute, Claire couldn't speak. She couldn't do anything - even drive. Thankfully, Morganville's roads wre quiet enough that a car suddenly stopping wasn't the end of the world.

"I, er, we're not...together," she muttered, just about getting the words out through gritted teeth. "And I would appreciate it if we didn't continue with this topic of conversation."

Mainly because she didn't want him to know how much his question had upset her...because Myrnin could never feel about her the way that she felt about him.

~x~

Perhaps, James reflected later that same evening, discussing the romantic lives of his co-workers hadn't been his wisest idea. Nobody would have batted an eyelid if he'd asked a similar sort of question in his laboratory; indeed, his technicians actively sought to spread the gossip of his workers' personal lives. Normally, he wouldn't have even asked the question; other people's lives were not his concern, after all. But there was something so...strange between Claire and Myrnin, he had had to clarify their situation.

They acted as if they were a couple, he thought, for he had seen many, many working couples during his time. Whenever Claire was busy working, James saw Myrnin casting furtive glances at her; and often, he caught Claire looking wistfully at Myrnin. They finished each other's sentences, knew exactly how the other thought, and seemed _socially_ compatible, too. For, despite Myrnin's complete lack of social etiquette, he clearly shared many of the same interests as Claire. Or, at least he pretended to care about them.

There was something still...off about the Myrnin character, though. There was something in his expression sometimes - particularly when he looked at James - that made James feel scared. And more than a bit angry. It was completely irrational; it was as if his body was reacting to something his brain couldn't remember.

What was strange was that one of the few souls he had seen walking around in the twilight period had almost an identical expression. Though it was ridiculous, it seemed almost like a predator.

But that was ridiculous. Humans couldn't just _look_ like a predator. Well, they could, but not in the way that James was imagining. It must just be the extremely weak coffee and the hot Texan sun. That was all.

.

The next morning, James awoke and was ready as normal for eight am, assuming that Claire would be back to her usual routine of picking him up. And there was a knock at the door at exactly eight am, though it was much louder and harsher than how Claire usually knocked.

Curiosity piqued, James walked slowly over to the door and opened it to discover a particularly well clad Myrnin. Covered in black leather from head to toe, he looked almost like a gangster.

"Aren't you a little warm?" Was all James could say, still shocked to see Myrnin _here_ , anywhere other than at the lab.

Myrnin rolled his eyes - or at least that's what it looked like he did underneath the shade. "Of course, but I suffer from a particularly vexing UV condition, so wouldn't you rather that I be warm than dead?" His tone was curt, rude and extremely Myrnin. "Now I haven't got all day - are you ready? If not, I'm going to go without you."

Without even waiting for James to reply, Myrnin had returned to the car. The ignition had been started by the time that James reached the car; he was in no doubt that the moody scientist would have left him behind, had he not reached the car in time.

Where Myrnin was all smiles with Claire, he was extremely harsh with James. He was also silent; there was no attempt at small talk, nor a warning that he was a particularly bad driver. Which he was. James was extremely glad he had fastened his seatbelt and had an extra handrail to hold onto, given the speed Myrnin took corners and the frequency with which he sped through red lights.

"Where's Claire?" James decided to broach the subject a couple of minutes before they reached the lab, to satisfy his curiosity.

He had half been expecting to hear that she had had to meet with the mayor, or was ill, or taking a day off - for Lord knew that she needed one - but Myrnin didn't provide any of these responses.

Instead, he replied, "she didn't want to come. Which means I get stuck with babysitting duty now."

Only then did James realise how much his question about Claire's relationship with Myrnin had evidently affected her.

~x~

On the way home from the laboratory later that day, Myrnin once again drove him. Claire had been her usual cheery self in the lab, and it had seemed strange to James that she didn't want to drive him to and from the motel. Yet she had deliberately ensured that she hadn't spent any time alone with him – or, indeed, with Myrnin. Perhaps his comments in the car had made her paranoid about just how much time she spent with the eccentric scientist.

The journey home went relatively smoothly; though he still feared for his life, James at least managed to identify some of the objects outside the window.

And it was there that he saw something that makes him want to take a second look. And a third. And a fourth.

Because he saw a face that he remembers from his childhood. And they looked _exactly_ the same, fifty years later.

"Who was that?" James asked.

"Who was what?" Myrnin replied, with a sigh.

" _That_ person…" James trailed off, realising that they were probably about half a mile away from them now, what with Myrnin's poor driving.

Though Myrnin sounded sarcastic when he responded, he also sounded strangely concerned. "Well, if we ever see them again, _do_ let me know. I'll consult my mental catalogue of Morganville residents to give you a full run down of their information. I'm guessing you'd like their social security number, too?"

He could tell that Myrnin was joking, but James wouldn't be surprised if he really _could_ provide people's personal information. The town scientist certainly had the brains…

~x~

That night, James had the worst nightmares he could ever remember having. They were full of violence: people wanted to kill him, and every single person in this town was out to get him, with the largest variety of weapons he'd ever seen. Some of them even had stakes – as if he was a vampire!

He woke up earlier than normal, and spent most of the pre-dawn hours watching the news, noticing once again how slow the television was to change channels. It was as if it required permission to show national shows, but that was ridiculous. Morganville was strange – and he was glad that he didn't live here anymore – but it wasn't dictatorial.

Myrnin picked him up again, and was as silent and unfriendly as ever. However, James was convinced that he had looked across at the passenger seat with a moment's concern; it was as if he could read the nightmares on his face, even now.

"Sleep well?" Myrnin asked, breaking the silence.

"As well as possible," James replied, hesitant to divulge his nightmares, especially to someone like Myrnin. "Out of curiosity…what are the crime stats like, for the town? I could have sworn I heard a group of men walking around with weapons last night…"

Myrnin looked confused as he returned James's gaze. "I…they're quite high, I believe," he responded, sounding unsure of himself for the first time since James had met him. "Though I think it's unlikely that you heard a gang of men outside your motel. Nobody goes around those parts at night." He scoffed a little, back to his usual self.

James had stopped paying attention, however, because he saw the same man as the day before…Gary Finess, that's what his name was.

"Stop the car," James demanded, speaking so authoritatively that Myrnin did actually stop the car. "That's Gary Finess…he was around fifty years ago! Why is he still here? _How_ is he still here?" James fired a series of questions at Myrnin without pausing for breath – or an answer.

Myrnin was silent for a moment before he replied. "That's not Gary Finess," was his reply. "I've heard of the old man, seen a picture of him. That's actually his grandson, Billy. They're identical – like Sam Glass and his grandson, Michael. Couldn't tell a difference between pictures of them, except for the fact that Michael's blonde where Sam was a redhead." Myrnin was rambling, and it was clear to James that he was trying to hide something.

Though he didn't protest, James absolutely did not believe that this was Billy Finess. Because the odds of both Gary _and_ "Billy" having an identical birthmark? Next to zero.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, until they reached a spot of traffic. It was rare for Morganville, to have enough cars to _create_ a traffic jam, and the novelty shook James out of his reverie.

So he decided to ask Myrnin a question.

"Are you interested in Claire, romantically I mean?"

Myrnin was shocked at the question, it was quite clear, and he gave a response which amused James. "Of course I am," Myrnin sighed. "But it would never work out. So we're destined to be colleagues, which is fine. I would rather have her in my life in _some_ manner, rather than none at all."

James narrowed his eyes. He absolutely hadn't expected Myrnin to answer the question – let alone give him such a detailed answer, revealing more information about himself than he had done in the weeks they'd worked together.

"Why wouldn't you work?" James blurted out. Damn his interest in gossip; no matter what he told his lab assistants, he secretly enjoyed hearing about who liked who – and it was telling. "You seem extremely similar, and well suited to one another. And I'm sure you'd be able to work out your differences."

Myrnin was coy in his response, and James could tell that he regretted saying anything at all. "We just wouldn't. She's Claire and I'm me, and there are some things that you can't ignore in a relationship. Or whatever we'd be. This conversation is over."

So, for the rest of the journey, they sat in silence, until Myrnin said, "if you ever even hint that this conversation happened, you are a dead man walking. Do you understand?"

For the first time, James could tell that Myrnin wasn't joking.

~x~

That night, James had another nightmare.

This time, it wasn't about men trying to kill him.

It was about vampires.

He had remembered, partially at least.

* * *

Please let me know your thoughts!


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